"Two hundred million!"
The voice was haughty and slow. A tall man in a bubble-helmet entered the hall, his every step echoing like a drumbeat through the tense silence. Saint Roswald, one of the Celestial Dragons, had arrived.
Behind him trailed six guards in black, faces hidden, eyes cold. His slave mount was left tied outside, snorting and trembling under the weight of its burden.
"This," Saint Roswald declared, his chin tilted arrogantly upward, "is the kind of thing only the descendants of the gods can enjoy. For you commoners to merely witness it—should already be considered a divine blessing."
Every word dripped with disdain. The crowd fell silent, fury burning behind their lowered eyes. Even kings and nobles clenched their fists in secret, but none dared speak. To offend a Celestial Dragon was suicide. One insult, and a Marine Admiral would descend like divine wrath.
Outside the auction house, Marines had already gathered in quiet formation, sensing the disturbance. Once the Celestial Dragon gave an order, they would move without hesitation—no matter who stood in their way.
The nobles and royalty who had once crowded the center quickly shuffled aside, leaving a wide circle of empty space around Saint Roswald. No one wanted to be too close to him.
The air grew suffocating.
Kyle, ever the consummate host, immediately sensed the need to restore the mood. He raised his microphone with a bright, practiced smile.
"Alright! Congratulations to Saint Roswald for purchasing this rare Blood Ginseng for the astounding price of two hundred million Berries!"
Polite applause followed, hollow and forced. Roswald smiled smugly, satisfied by the performance.
For auction houses, Celestial Dragons were both a blessing and a curse. They brought immense wealth—but also chaos. Once a Celestial Dragon made a bid, no one else dared compete, which often meant the final price fell short of what it could have been. The Blood Ginseng, for instance, could easily have fetched three hundred million or more. But once Roswald entered, no one dared bid again.
The auction pressed on, though the atmosphere had shifted. The lively energy of before was gone, replaced by stiff smiles and careful restraint.
"Next up," Kyle announced, his tone rising again, "a precious Devil Fruit! Many of you already know that these fruits grant extraordinary powers to those who eat them! This one is a Zoan-type—Weasel-Weasel Fruit! Starting bid: fifty million Berries!"
He conveniently omitted mentioning the Devil Fruit's greatest drawback—its curse of the sea.
Excitement rippled through the pirates in the crowd. For many, Devil Fruits were the ultimate dream, treasures so rare they'd risk their lives for even the most basic type.
"Seventy million Berries! I, Axe Mondo, want it!"
The voice came from a towering man—nearly four meters tall, muscles like steel cables, a massive two-meter axe strapped to his back. His aura alone made nearby pirates shrink away.
Almost immediately, another pirate shouted, "Eighty million!"
Then, "Ninety!"
"One hundred!"
The bids came fast, clashing like cannon fire—until a calm, superior voice cut through the frenzy.
"Two hundred million."
Saint Roswald again. He raised his gloved hand lazily, as if dropping gold into a gutter.
He loved this moment—the pause, the silence, the sudden collapse of every other bidder's courage. The same ritual, repeated every time: the lesser creatures would fight, and he would end it with a single wave of his divine hand.
The room fell silent. None dared compete with him. Another Devil Fruit vanished into his possession.
Kyle's voice rang out, smiling but tight. "Congratulations again to Saint Roswald for purchasing this Devil Fruit at the remarkable price of two hundred million Berries!"
The host's enthusiasm was genuine—if forced. Celestial Dragons were rich, reckless bidders who doubled his commission without effort. Still, everyone could feel the stifling tension creeping into the air.
Another item followed—another Zoan-type fruit, the Skunk-Skunk Fruit. Predictably, the same pattern played out. Pirates bid, the room grew feverish, and then—
"Two hundred million Berries," Roswald declared again, smug as ever.
When the hammer fell, he looked around with open mockery, eyes gleaming behind the bubble glass.
His gaze said, Pathetic insects.
"This bastard…" growled Axe Mondo, his fists trembling. He half-rose from his seat, only to be restrained by his crew.
"Captain! Don't! You'll bring a Marine Admiral down on us!"
Mondo's jaw clenched. The Celestial Dragons' arrogance was unbearable. They provoked hatred effortlessly—simply by existing.
But the pirate swallowed his fury. He wasn't suicidal.
Then came the next item—a new Devil Fruit. Kyle lifted the covered case with exaggerated reverence.
"Now, we have an unknown Paramecia-type Devil Fruit! After thorough appraisal, its exact ability remains unidentified—but it is indeed a Paramecia! Starting bid: seventy million Berries!"
Murmurs spread. Paramecia-type fruits varied wildly in power. Some were legendary, like Whitebeard's and Golden Lion's. Others were absurdly useless. It was a gamble of destiny.
Even Saint Roswald didn't seem interested this time.
Teach leaned slightly toward Mostima. "Bid on it."
Mostima nodded subtly.
Bidding began slowly. A few risk-takers raised the price in small increments. They all knew the gamble—this could be a fruit of glory, or a curse for life.
Kyle worked the crowd skillfully, his voice full of temptation.
"One hundred twenty million, anyone? Remember—Whitebeard, Golden Lion, even Big Mom—Paramecia users, every one of them! The potential is endless!"
But his words no longer stirred the crowd. The price stalled at one hundred twenty million.
And so, the unknown Devil Fruit was sold—to Mostima.
He had kept a low profile, bidding casually among others until the end. But as the gavel struck, whispers began spreading. Faces turned toward him.
A pirate in the corner compared the image in his bounty book. "Boss… that's the pirate Mostima. Bounty—two hundred and ten million Berries."
"What?!"
The revelation rippled through the crowd. Heads turned. Murmurs rose.
Teach chuckled softly beside him. "Seems you'll have a bit of fun after the auction."
Mostima smirked. "Then let's remind these Paradise pirates of the difference between us."
Both men laughed quietly, unseen by those around them.
"Next," Kyle announced, "five chefs—skilled in fine cuisine! Starting bid, three million Berries!"
The shift was jarring. The slave trade had begun.
One by one, chained slaves were paraded onto the stage—men, women, even nobles. Their despair hung heavy in the air.
Among them were fallen ministers, nobles from destroyed kingdoms—once powerful, now reduced to commodities. This was the world's order: when nations fell, their people were sold. The victors profited, and life went on.
With nearly a thousand nations in the world and only one hundred seventy under the World Government's protection, slavery was inevitable. The weak had no shield.
The crowd watched without pity. Bids rose mechanically. A group of pirates bought the chefs. A noble purchased a maid. A king bought three servants for his son.
Saint Roswald, predictably, joined in the fun—purchasing a beautiful woman and a massive five-meter-tall man to serve as his new mount. His old slave would, of course, be discarded. Everyone knew what that meant.
The sight sickened many but none dared interfere.
Hours passed. Kyle's voice began to strain, but as he raised his microphone once more, the room stirred.
"Ladies and gentlemen—the moment you've all been waiting for! The three main auction items!"
Exhaustion vanished, replaced by renewed excitement. Even Saint Roswald leaned forward, anticipation glinting in his eyes.
"First up—a top-tier Zoan-type Devil Fruit: the Bear-Bear Fruit, Exploding Bear Form! Eat it, and gain the monstrous strength and physique of a raging bear! A true powerhouse for any pirate aiming for the New World!"
The hall erupted. Even Teach's eyes flickered with brief interest. Now that's something worth fighting over, he thought.
Kyle grinned, feeling the energy surge back into the room. "Starting bid: one hundred million Berries!"
"Hundred twenty!"
"Hundred forty!"
"Two hundred!"
"Three hundred!"
The price climbed rapidly, the crowd feeding on adrenaline.
Then—
"Four hundred million," said Saint Roswald smoothly, raising his hand once again.
"Hmph! Five hundred million!"
Axe Mondo's voice thundered across the hall, raw and furious. The crowd froze.
Saint Roswald's smile faltered.
"Captain!" his men whispered urgently. "You'll offend a Celestial Dragon! That's nearly all our money!"
Mondo's voice boomed louder. "What of it?! This is an auction! I'm not touching him, just bidding! What, can a Celestial Dragon not afford to lose?!"
Gasps swept the room. The pirate's anger—his pent-up defiance—ignited the air.
He slammed his fist on the armrest, glaring at Roswald. "If I win, I'll eat that fruit the moment the auction ends! If a Marine Admiral comes, we'll already be gone to the New World!"
The entire hall buzzed with tension. Some pirates exchanged uneasy grins; others edged toward the exits. Everyone knew—this night was heading toward chaos.
Saint Roswald's face darkened behind his glass helm. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He couldn't afford to reveal weakness in front of so many eyes.
Still, in his heart, fury seethed like lava.
He had already memorized the pirate's face.
Sooner or later, he would make Axe Mondo regret that defiance.
He would break him—body and soul—and make him crawl as a slave.